


life's like a beach. and then you die.

by Etharei



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Introspection, M/M, Near Death Experience
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-07-11
Updated: 2008-07-11
Packaged: 2017-10-22 06:09:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/234722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Etharei/pseuds/Etharei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"The desert is for death," says Jack amiably beside him, gesturing behind them with his thumb. "And it’s that way."</i> Written for <a href="http://horizonssing.livejournal.com">Horizons Sing</a> challenge, Day #9</p>
            </blockquote>





	life's like a beach. and then you die.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is a witty quote from _Small Gods_ by Terry Pratchett (a Discworld novel). I'm not entirely sure where my fics are coming from.

_**life's like a beach. and then you die. (Jack, Ianto; PG-13)**_  
 **Title:** life's like a beach. and then you die.  
 **Author:** [](http://etharei.livejournal.com/profile)[**etharei**](http://etharei.livejournal.com/)  
 **Rating:** PG-13  
 **Timeline:** set during "Cyberwoman", after a certain person was thrown down  
 **Spoilers:** "Cyberwoman" (104)  
 **Summary:** _"The desert is for death," says Jack amiably beside him, gesturing behind them with his thumb. "And it’s that way."_  
 **Author's Notes:** Title is a witty quote from _Small Gods_ by Terry Pratchett (a Discworld novel). I'm not entirely sure where my fics are coming from.  
 **Disclaimer:** Torchwood and all the characters and situations featured therein are the property of Russell T. Davies, the BBC and their affiliates. I’m only borrowing them for purely non-profit, recreational purposes.

 **Written for:** [](http://horizonssing.livejournal.com/profile)[**horizonssing**](http://horizonssing.livejournal.com/) , [Day #9](http://community.livejournal.com/horizonssing/3827.html).

 _"I walk without flinching through the burning cathedral of the summer.  
My bank of wild grass is majestic and full of music.  
It is a fire that solitude presses against my lips."_

 _\- Violette Leduc,  
Mad in Pursuit_

  
_**life's like a beach. and then you die**  
by etharei_   


Heat. Scorching his skin, the sun, the stinging sand. Spiraling streams singing like sadness, like strife, like seas of spite. It steals his breath and makes him stagger, eyes watering from the particles and the thousands of little cuts on his skin. But he’s not bleeding, not visibly, even when he feels well flayed by the wind. The storm doesn’t die down, but he thinks he can make out other shapes through it, a glimmer of blue, and maybe the suggestion of salt in what little air he can take in.

 _Definitely not in Cardiff anymore._

He tentatively steps forward. There’s not even time to see a full footprint behind him before the sand and wind erase it. So that is how he must go.

“You’re not ready to die, yet.”

For some reason, he’s not surprised to hear the familiar voice, nor by the clarity of it, despite the wind working away at his skin and the respectable distance between his person and that blue coat.

“And how would you know?” He almost adds the _sir_ , for habit and contempt.

Jack steps closer. “I’m an old soldier, me, and I’ve seen enough death, enough dying, to know when a young man hasn’t reached that level of despair.”

Ianto shifts, for all the good a different stand would do in unsteady sand. “I should be angry at you. I remember-“ _Oh God, Lisa._. He chokes, coughs.

“I think I would prefer it, if you were,” says Jack, so quiet now, but the words still unmistakable, like his voice and the storm are on different tracks on a tape. His eyes are kind, kinder than Ianto ever remembers them being, and older. So much older. “But no matter what you have said, what you will say... it’s not _me_ you’re angry at, is it?”

“Fuck off, Jack.” Ianto moves away, preferring the bite of the sandstorm. “Leave me alone.”

“That’s what brought us here.” Jack is following him. All that single-minded, incessant determination concentrated on Ianto; the irony makes him want to laugh. “The team leaving you alone. And _that_ , at least, is my fault.”

“You didn’t want to have anything to do with me,” Ianto reminds him. “Now you’ve got your chance.”

Abruptly the winds die down, the curtain of sand disappearing, and he’s looking out at a brilliant glittering sea. Structures of sand and stone can be seen in the distance, rising out of the rich unearthly blue. Ianto is standing on a slope; ahead of him, the ground curves down gently towards a pristine, narrow beach.

“The desert is for death,” says Jack amiably beside him, gesturing behind them with his thumb. “And it’s that way. The sea, now, is for _possibilities_. Change. In other words, life.” He pauses, tucking his hands into the pockets of his coat. “Like I said, you’re not really ready to die.”

It’s not like Ianto had _chosen_ to come this way, he just had. “This is a beautiful place,” he says, for lack of any other truth.

“Glad you think so.” A flash of smile. “It’s where I come from.”

Ianto blinks, not quite processing the sentence for a moment. But then, he’d always suspected Jack didn’t come from Earth. “Why did you bring me here?”

“I didn’t.” The admission causes Ianto to turn and look at Jack fully, not bothering to hide his confusion. “Haven’t thought about this place for... far too long. Can barely remember it, myself. I just threw you a lifeline; you chose the destination. Out of both our memories – interesting.”

Thoughts so jumbled, between death and violence and _Lisa_ and bloody _Tatooine_ as purgatory, that Ianto wonders if the some of the sand had gotten into his brain. “Wait - _I’m in your head_?”

“No, it’s not a proper memory,” replies Jack, still using the irritatingly calm and airy tone. “You’ll note there are no people, no other signs of life. It’s only a... backdrop, if you will. Not that you should have been able to pick it out; my subconscious must trust you more than I thought.”

Ianto doesn’t dwell on that too deeply; he’s feeling enough pain as it is. “And what happens now?”

“You decide that you want to go back.”

He raises an eyebrow at Jack. “You sounded pretty certain that I’m not ready to die.”

“I am; but you still have to _choose_.”

“How long have I got?”

“As long as you need.”

Ianto doesn’t know how long they stand there. Nothing changes, not the brightness of the sky nor the ripples in the water. Even the jagged line of waves along the beach have a recurring pattern. His muscles don’t tire, and neither do Jack’s. There’s a sense that they could have stayed there, contemplating the division of earth and water on a distant alien world, forever and ever.

“I can think more clearly, now,” Ianto eventually says. “And I know how it will end, if I go back.”

“You’d known all along.” Now it’s Jack who isn’t looking at him. His eyes are fixed on the horizon, as if watching for something. “There was a point there, when you knew that there’s no other way it could end.”

“She killed somebody. Said she was trying to thank them. Oh God.” Ianto closes his eyes. “If Lisa, _my_ Lisa, is still in there, she’d hate what she’s become.”

“Ianto, it won’t matter what you think here. We won’t remember this place when we go back,” says Jack, with a trace of regret in the last statement.

Then he doesn’t want to go back. Doesn’t want to end it, doesn’t want to let go. Not fair, not _fair_ , any of it. He wants to rage out at the injustice, the cruelty of losing hope after so long, so much. But no matter how long he waits, the future will still be there, waiting for him to see it through. The desert is not for him, yet. And realizing this, he knows that he can’t, _won’t_ , hide here in fear.

Still. “I’ll be all alone,” he whispers, feeling the freedom of words unremembered. “I go back, and I’ll be all alone.”

Jack, at least, doesn’t say anything to this. He just waits, patient like Jack can never be in real life.

Ianto stops looking at the landscape – only a backdrop, Jack had said – and turns his attention fully to Jack. The older man looks just as Ianto remembers, but there’s a quality to him that Ianto has briefly picked up on before, in passing. Except now it’s there, indefinable and _fixed_ ; like the unchanging desert, the eternal summer, the hourglass flowing both ways.

He had to _choose_. Between the sea and the sands, he steps close to Jack. Jack doesn’t move, neither aiding nor abetting, only watches. Ianto lightly touches his hair, his temple, lightly skirting the human face with its not-so-human eyes, both hands coming to rest on the broad shoulders.

Pause. But the knowledge is like stone, sure and fundemental: he can’t stay, and still be Ianto Jones.

Ianto closes his eyes, and presses his lips to Jack. Opens up, lets Jack in, saltwater and wind and _fire_...

... he comes to, gasping, Jack bent over him and urging him to be quiet. Ianto gazes up at him, confused; there’d been something, a dream, had he knocked his head? He feels light-headed, but also jittery with energy. And he’s on Jack’s lap.

Then there’s a scream, he remembers, and he’s running, dashing through water, fighting off the dead weight of despair as he throws himself through the lost and uncertain dark.


End file.
